


Hold, Please

by Firegirl111



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Customer Service Rep!Sandor, Delightful Misunderstandings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl111/pseuds/Firegirl111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane has worked at Lannister Telecom as a customer service representative for the past seven years. In all the time he's spent chirping courtesies over the phone, he's been sworn at, hung up on, and even gotten death threats. All in a day's work at LanniCom. But when a woman named Sansa phones up and chirps some courtesies of her own, Sandor's life starts to change in ways he never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chirping Courtesies

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this little fic! Hoping to update quite frequently.

The script was always the same. Sandor would be sitting there in his wrinkled polyester suit, staring lifelessly at the blank, grey wall of his cubicle, enjoying a sweet moment of silence while waiting for his headset to beep. He never had to wait long. Soon enough, a disgruntled customer would be barking in his ear about their internet not working, or their cable being out, or their home phone being too damn expensive (who even _had_ a home phone, these days?) and he’d be back to chirping courtesies.

Sandor did not like chirping courtesies.

When he’d shown up for training at Lannister Telecom, he’d felt a little apprehensive about being a customer service representative. Nobody had ever let Sandor deal with customers before. Even as a teenager, working at the local burger joint, he’d been immediately sent to the back. He didn’t blame anyone for it, really. Nothing scared off customers like a half-melted face.

Over the phone, though. All you needed to be a success in the customer service department at LanniCom was a deep, soothing voice and the ability to read lines off a piece of paper.

Well, that and a flask in your drawer.

Sandor closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. _Beep._ Sure enough, another call. Just what he needed. He picked up his script out of sheer habit – after seven years, he pretty much had the thing memorized.

“Hello. Thank you for calling LanniCom. Could you please verify your identity by stating the last five digits of your phone number? 

“I already verified my goddamn identity with the last asshole I talked to,” a man’s voice snarled through his headset.

Sandor hit mute just long enough to cover the sound of his sigh. Off to a great start.

After a few more calls and a couple of clandestine sips of whisky, he was about ready to sneak out and pretend he was never there. Call in sick, maybe. But just as he was grabbing his coat, his little shit of a boss Joffrey popped his greasy head over the wall of his cubicle.

“Clegane!” He shouted loud enough for the rest of the office to hear. “I don’t have time sheets on my desk. It’s Thursday, remember? It’s time sheet day!”

Sandor clenched his jaw. “I’ll have them to you shortly, sir.”

Joffrey smiled at that, a twisted little worm-lipped grin. Joffrey was only 21, but being the son of the owner had helped him climb the ranks fast at LanniCom. He’d been Sandor’s boss for a year now, during which time Sandor’s life had pretty much become a living hell.

Before, he could fade into the background. Go about his day without too much notice from anyone. But Joffrey seemed to have made him a sort of... favourite. If Joffrey wanted his employees to do something, he didn’t tell them himself. No, he sent Sandor to do his dirty work, whether that meant hounding his coworkers to hand in their timesheets promptly, or giving someone shit for leaving their dishes in the break room sink.

It hadn’t made Sandor particularly popular around the office.

Joffrey turned and went back to his office, leaving behind the overpowering scent of musky cologne. Sandor had a sick feeling he’d be smelling it all day.

He loosened his tie and settled back into his squeaky office chair. No chance of escape now that Joffrey had seen him.

 _Beep._ Sandor sighed, cracked his knuckles and answered the call.

“Hello. Thank you for calling LanniCom. Can you please verify your identity by stating the last five digits of your phone number?” He mumbled his lines. It was only 10 a.m., and he’d already stopped giving a shit.

“Thank you so much for taking my call, I really appreciate it.” The woman’s voice on the line sounded genuinely grateful and a little bit breathless, like she’d just come in from a run. “My number ends with 78275.”

Sandor pulled up her file on his computer. “Sansa Stark?”

“Yes, that’s right. And who am I speaking with?”

Sandor was a little taken aback. They’d been talking for at least thirty seconds and not only had she not sworn at him yet, she had actually asked for his name. “I’m – Sandor.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What can I help you with today, Sansa?”

“Well, my internet doesn’t seem to be working.”

“No problem,” Sandor said. “I can help you with that. Sansa, I’m just going to take you through a few troubleshooting steps, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

He glanced down at his script at the questions he’d need to ask her. She’d been nice so far, but customers never failed to become furious when it came to troubleshooting. Basically, it was his job to suss out whether or not they’d done something really stupid to cause their particular telecom issue – and they usually didn’t like that. 

He cleared his throat. “First of all, can you please make that your wireless router is plugged in?” 

The woman laughed. “Well, I certainly hope so.” A rustling noise on the line. “Yes, it’s plugged in.”

“Great,” he said. “I’m going to ask you to please reset your router by turning it off, then waiting a full 45 seconds before turning it back on. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” Sansa said. “Okay, it’s off. 45 seconds, you said?”

“Yep. 45.”

Silence on the line. And then, “So how do you like your job, Sandor?”

He cleared his throat. Small talk? It was like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. “It’s – great. I mean, not bad. I --" 

She laughed. “Oh, sorry. I forgot this call may be recorded for quality assurance and training purposes.” 

He barked a short laugh, then quickly composed himself. _Stick to the script. Always stick to the script._ “Okay, Sansa. I’m going to ask you to turn the router back on, then go back to your computer to see if the internet has started working.”

“Okay.”

Sandor tapped his nails on his desk as he waited.

A sigh from the other end of the line. “It’s still not working. I’m sorry, Sandor. I hope I did it right.”

“No – no apologies needed.” She was apologizing to him? “Could you please take a look at your Wi-Fi settings on your computer, and check to make sure you’re connected to the right network?”

A long pause. “Oh my god, I’m so stupid.”

“What’s wrong?”

Sansa sighed. “My computer was trying to connect to the Wi-Fi from the café across the street. I’m so sorry I wasted your time, Sandor!”

“No, not at all. Glad I could help.”

“You were a huge help. Thank you so much. Have a great –”

“Before you hang up,” Sandor said, going wildly, dangerously off-script, “My direct extension is 364. I mean, in case you have any more trouble.”

“That’s so nice of you. I’ll be sure to use it. Have a wonderful day, Sandor!”

She hung up. He sat there in a daze for a moment, so rattled by all the courtesy that he almost didn’t hear the next beep.


	2. You've Got (Awkward) Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The picture only needed to load halfway before Sandor realized he definitely needed to close his email.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Thanks for all the lovely comments on the last chapter :)

Somehow, Sandor’s brief conversation with Sansa kept his spirits up for the rest of the day. He was sworn at and hung up on plenty, of course – all in a day’s work – but receiving a kind word or two made his subsequent phone calls seem not nearly as bad as usual.

The next morning as he walked to his cubicle, brown paper lunch bag in one hand and cup of lukewarm black coffee in the other, Sandor allowed his mind to wander to Sansa once more. Before he could stop it, a tiny hope wriggled its way into his consciousness – a hope that she’d call again today.

He suddenly laughed out loud, drawing a couple of odd looks from his coworkers. _Fuck them._ And fuck him, too. One kind word and he’d attached himself to the fantasy of this woman like a dog who’d spent its life being kicked.

The fluorescent light above his cubicle was flickering. He shook the snow off his coat, slung it over the back of his chair and shoved his lunch into a drawer. He sat down, trying to find a comfortable position for his legs under the much-too-short desk. In the seven years he’d worked there, he’d never found one.

The sounds of friendly conversation from the water cooler across the room floated into his cubicle. He cracked his knuckles and sighed, then flicked on his monitor. He logged into his email, expecting the usual slew of company announcements and abusive tirades from Joffrey.

_One new message._ Sender: Tarth, Brienne. Subject line: “All right, FINE.” That was odd – she worked in the mailroom. They’d said hello a few times in the halls, but they’d never had cause to interact beyond that. Why was she emailing him?

He opened the message. It had only one line of text, then a large image that was taking forever to load. He rolled his eyes. You’d think a telecom company could manage to deliver its own office some decent internet service. He scrolled down and read the message.

_Jaime –_

_This is the last time! xoxo_

_B._

The picture only needed to load halfway before Sandor realized he definitely needed to close his email. _Immediately._ He started frantically clicking the button to exit the window, but the bloody loading cursor came up and then the window was frozen and then...

“Clegane!”

A bead of sweat ran down Sandor’s brow as he spotted Joffrey striding closer and closer to his cubicle. He kept clicking and clicking and the window just kept staying open, the extremely inappropriate picture of his hallway acquaintance staying as visible and disturbing as ever. Finally, when Joffrey was no more than a foot away, Sandor reached under his desk and ripped the power cord out of the outlet, shutting down the whole machine. 

As the monitor went black, he let out an audible sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his brow. “What can I do for you, Joffrey?”

Joffrey eyed him suspiciously. “There’s leftover cake in the break room. Please notify the employees.”

Sandor nodded. “No problem.”

“Except for Walda, of course.” Joffrey chuckled to himself as he turned away. “She’s fat enough already.”

Sandor didn’t say another word, just gave a faint nod of understanding and waited for the little cunt to return to his corner office. When he was gone, Sandor rubbed his eyes and rested his face in his hands for a moment.

He got up out of his chair and strode over to the elevator, hitting the button for the basement far harder than he needed to.

The mailroom was musty, sprawling and poorly lit, but he spotted Brienne amongst the sea of workers immediately. For one, she was the biggest and tallest of the bunch. Almost as tall as Sandor, in truth. And for two, her cheeks were flushed pink like she’d just done something very naughty, a half-smile plastered to her lips. 

_She has no fucking idea._

Brienne sat at her desk sealing envelopes, lost in her thoughts as Sandor loomed over her. He cleared his throat and she jumped.

“Oh! Sandor.” She looked up and lost the stupid grin. “What can I do for you?”

Sandor leaned over and said in a low voice, “Next time you send a dirty picture, it might serve to double check the recipients before you hit send.”

The faint blush on her cheeks turned blood red. “Oh – oh my god...”

Sandor just nodded.

“Did anybody – did anybody else....” Her words came out a squeak. He would have laughed at such a high-pitched noise coming from such a large person if he weren’t so goddamn irritated.

“Just me. Almost Joffrey, but I managed to close it before he saw.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice even more. “Is this his _uncle_ we’re talking about, here?”

Brienne didn’t answer the question, just started sweating and stuttering. “But you – you’ll delete it, right?”

Sandor rolled his eyes. “I’m certainly not keeping it for my personal collection.”

“Thank you so much, Clegane. I – I owe you one. Really.”

He waved her off and headed back to his desk. When he got there, he powered up his computer again and typed out an email of his own.

_Recipients: ALL_

_Subject line: Hey assholes_

_Message: There’s cake._

No use wasting courtesies on this lot. 

The rest of the day passed as smoothly as could be expected. Fewer calls than normal, and since Joffrey had disappeared shortly after lunch, Sandor had managed to get through his afternoon in relative peace. By 4:45, he was eyeing the door, considering making an early break for it. In the pandemonium of employees walking back and forth from the break room to grab additional pieces of cake, it’s not like anybody would notice he was missing.

Just as he was about to put his headset away for the day, he heard another beep. He considered not answering it, but decided to just get it over with. Joffrey would have his head if he found out Sandor had been ignoring calls.

“Hello. Thank you for calling LanniCom,” he mumbled. “Could you please verify your identity by stating the last five digits of your phone number?”

“Hello, Sandor? It’s Sansa Stark calling. You probably don’t remember me – we spoke yesterday.”

Sandor sat up straight in his chair. “Oh – hi there. How are you?” 

“Not great,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you directly. My cable’s just gone out.”

Sandor’s mind suddenly went blank. He picked up his script and frantically scanned it, trying to find the appropriate response to this situation. “Okay. What happens when you turn on your TV?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Well, static.” 

Shit. There wasn’t anything he could do to fix it over the phone.

“I’ll have to arrange a service call for you.” He pulled up the schedule on his computer. “Are you available on Tuesday between 9 and 5?”

Sansa groaned. “Is there any way you could get somebody over here today? I’m supposed to have people over tonight to watch TV. I would really, really appreciate it...”

The words popped out of his mouth before he could breathe, before he could think, before he could possibly evaluate the potential ramifications of the situation. It was like he was floating above himself, watching Alternate Reality Sandor speak the stupidest words he’d ever spoken in his entire goddamn stupid life.

“What’s your address? I can swing over and take a look.”

He scribbled it down, grabbed his coat and left the building. It wasn’t until he put his car into gear that he remembered he had absolutely no idea how to fix cable.


	3. Always Stick to the Script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swearing under his breath, Sandor tossed his phone in the backseat. He’d have to figure it out when he got there. In the meantime, he decided to spend the remainder of the drive preparing himself for the look on Sansa’s face when she opened the door. Surprised? Horrified? Traumatized?
> 
> This is why you stick to the bloody script.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and kudos <3

Sandor sped down the highway towards Sansa’s place, shivering all to hell, one hand on the steering wheel and another holding down the button of his iPhone, trying his best to summon Siri while simultaneously weaving in and out of traffic. It was snowing, of course, which made the whole situation even more ridiculous.

“Siri, how do you fix cable?” he shouted to his phone, trying to drown out the sound of the heater going full blast. 

“Here are the search results for ‘How to Fix a Table,’” she chirped back at him in her infuriatingly cheerful voice.

“Not a bloody table. _Cable!_ ”

“Here are the search results for ‘Bloody Table.’”

Swearing under his breath, Sandor tossed his phone in the backseat. He’d have to figure it out when he got there. In the meantime, he decided to spend the remainder of the drive preparing himself for the look on Sansa’s face when she opened the door. Surprised? Horrified? Traumatized?

_This is why you stick to the bloody script. Otherwise you end up scaring the shit out of nice ladies by driving your melted wreck of a face over to their apartments._

Sandor didn’t feel insecure about his scars. Not usually. He knew what they meant. They meant that strangers moved out of the way when he walked through crowds and that he feared nobody, not really, not even his brother. They meant he could intimidate his way through life, when he wanted to. Take what he needed. 

They meant his life wouldn’t contain any of the things – the things you’d expect. But he’d already been through hell once. There was nothing to be afraid of, now. Nothing could be worse than that.

Sometimes, though, he forgot himself. Sometimes he couldn’t help it.

The car was finally starting to warm up. Sandor turned down the heater and exhaled hard. He veered off the highway and turned onto Sansa’s street. 

Her apartment building was smaller than he’d expected. Red brick, low-rise, only four floors. A window on the ground floor was broken and covered with plastic wrap, and he could see some graffiti on the wooden bench outside. But someone had built a snowman outside, which strangely seemed to warm the whole place up.

Of course there was no elevator. Of course she lived on the fourth floor. He trudged up the stairs, hoping the exertion would calm his nerves.

When he finally got to her door, he was a sweaty mess. He knocked. _Might as well get this ridiculousness over with._

She opened the door with a huge smile, one that only wavered slightly when she noticed his face. Her recovery time was impeccable, though. She was good at hiding her disgust.

“Sandor, right?”

He nodded. She was tall for a woman (though still much shorter than him), with thick auburn hair and skin like milk. He cleared his throat.

“Oh my God. Thank you so much for coming.” She waved him into her apartment. “I have no idea what’s wrong with it.”

“No problem. Is that it?” He asked, gesturing towards the tiny flat-screen TV sitting on an old milk crate in the corner . _Of course that’s the bloody TV, you fucking idiot._

“Yep. Can I get you something? Some lemonade?”

“No,” he said, walking over to the TV. “I mean – sure. Thanks.” _Smooth. Off to a great start, here._

Sandor knelt down behind the TV, trying to locate the cable box. He found it, surrounded by a mess of dusty, random wires. Randomly unplugging them and plugging them back in sounded like a good enough strategy.

“So how long have you been working at LanniCom, Sandor?” Sansa called out from the kitchen.

“Seven years,” he said.

“Wow. You must really like it there!”

Sandor laughed. “Oh, yeah. My dream job.”

“It must be nice, being able to chat on the phone all day. It can get pretty lonely in the studio.” 

“Studio?”

“I’m studying textile arts.” She walked over to where he was working and passed him a glass of lemonade, then gestured at a quilt hanging on the wall beside him. It was sort of modern looking, with bold purples and golds. The section right next to his head was covered in a pattern of little birds.

“I didn’t know that was a thing,” he said, turning back to the cable TV disaster in front of him. “You got a wrench?”

“No,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I think the only tool I’ve got in this apartment is an Allen key.”

“That works,” he said. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with it, but asking for tools sounded like something a cable repair technician would do. Or something.

That’s when he saw it. The TV was plugged into the power outlet directly, but the cable box was plugged into an old, sketchy looking power bar. On a whim, he unplugged the cable box and plugged it directly into the wall. Suddenly, the static on the TV screen turned into some sort of extremely loud music video.

“Oh my goodness, you got it working!” Sansa ran back into the living room, Allen key in hand. “I guess you don’t need this after all.”

“No problem,” he shouted over the music before flicking off the screen. “Glad it’s working. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No, please,” she said. “Stay and finish your lemonade. It’s the least I can do after you came all the way out here." 

Sandor would have argued, but he was so goddamn happy that he somehow managed to fix the cable that he soon found himself perched on a tiny loveseat beside Sansa, sipping lemonade like an idiot in the middle of winter. Sansa drank hers, too, her ice cubes clinking prettily against the sides of the glass.

“So,” he said. “Textiles.”

“Textiles.” She smiled and put her cup down on the coffee table. “You’re going to ask why I chose such an irresponsible major.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s sort of... temporary,” she said. “I’m not planning on making a career of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what are your career plans, then? Thinking of following me into the exciting world of customer service?”

She laughed. “No, not exactly. I’m actually an... heiress.” She took another sip of lemonade. “God, that sounds so stupid to say out loud.”

 _Stark._ How had he not realized it before? “Christ. Your family owns half the goddamn city.” 

She raised an eyebrow, but kept smiling. “You’re much more polite on the phone, you know.”

“They give me a script there.”

Sansa laughed. “Doesn’t it get boring? Always knowing what you’re going to say next?”

“Boring as hell,” he said, taking another sip. “But textiles...”

She rolled her eyes. “Just say it.”

“Textiles.” He shook his head slowly. “How bloody boring are those?”

“They’re exciting!” She laughed when she saw the look on his face. “Well... not _exciting,_ maybe. But interesting.” 

“More interesting than heiress-ing?”

“Infinitely. That mainly consists of marrying well and doing charity work and... not living in this awesome apartment building making art and being free.” She looked down. “Sorry. That got a little depressing.”

“Don’t let me bring you down, girl. Sounds like you’ve got life all figured out." 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll toast to that.” They clinked glasses. Sandor looked down into his rapidly disappearing lemonade, wishing it were wine.

“So what are your big plans tonight? That you needed the TV for, I mean.”

“My sister’s coming over. Her visits always go much more smoothly when we can distract ourselves with reality TV.” She smiled. “Do you have brothers and sisters, Sandor?”

He cleared his throat. “A brother.”

“Are you close?”

Sandor laughed and shook his head. “Not exactly. Things have never quite been the same between us since he gave me this.” He gestured towards the ruined side of his face.

“Jesus,” she said, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry. How did it – I mean, what happened?”

 _Stop talking. Stop talking._  

He kept talking.

“Just the usual sibling rivalry. I took one of his toys, he shoved my face into some burning hot coals.” He finished the rest of his lemonade in one gulp. “We don’t hang out much.” 

She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Why the fuck did he tell her this again? _Always stick to the goddamn script. Or just... shut the fuck up. That should really be the only alternative._

He shifted in his seat, getting ready to leave. But before he could stand, he felt her palm against his shoulder.

“Sandor, wait,” she said. “He sounds like a really terrible person. I’m so sorry that happened to you.” She had goddamn tears in her eyes.

For a minute, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t seem to remember anybody else ever caring this much. _Or at least appearing to._ “Look – don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago.” He put his cup down on the coffee table. “Thanks for the lemonade, Sansa. Good luck with your textiles and your... heiress-ness.”

She gave him a sad smile and got up, smoothed out her sweater and walked him towards the door. “Thank you so much, Sandor. I don’t know what I would have done without you." 

He laughed. “I’m sure you would have figured something out.” As he reached out for the doorknob, he felt himself stop, felt his face turn towards Sansa, felt the words start their long journey from the stupidest, most pathetic corner of his brain to the tip of his tongue.

_Do you want to... hang out? Sometime?_

He almost said the words. Almost, but didn’t. Which was a very good thing, because after half a heartbeat of silence, the door opened on its own to reveal an extremely familiar face.

The spikey blond hair. The wormy little grin. The cologne. _Christ, the fucking cologne..._

“Clegane! What the fuck are you doing here?” Joffrey laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, hard, like they were old buddies.

Sansa looked confused. “You two know each other?”

Joffrey grinned. “Clegane here is one of my most valuable employees. Isn’t that right?” 

“I – we – yes, we work together,” he said.

“That’s so wonderful!” Sansa said. “Sandor, Joffrey’s my boyfriend. Isn’t that funny?” She turned towards Joffrey. “Sandor just saved the day by fixing my cable.”

“Very funny,” Joffrey said, still grinning like a mischievous little bitch. “Phones a little slow today, Clegane? Not often you get out of the office to do house calls.”

Sandor didn’t respond, just gave a tight grin. He glanced over at Sansa, who looked far too fucking happy about this situation.

“I can’t believe you two work together! We have to go on a double date,” she said. “Do you have a girlfriend, Sandor?”

They both looked at him, heads cocked, Joffrey’s eyes as beady and malicious as Sansa’s were beautiful.

“Yeah,” Sandor said. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

_Fuck._


	4. Cheque, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to order something?” Sandor asked.
> 
> She paused for a moment, then raised her deep blue eyes to meet his. “Let’s get some shots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Hopefully this makes up for it :)

_How the hell did I end up here?  
_

The blasting music was hammering at Sandor’s eardrums. He was wearing a scratchy collared shirt and sweating from every possible body part. He was eating grilled calamari with lime, for Christ’s sake.

_Oh, right. By opening my goddamn mouth._

If somebody had told Sandor he’d be spending his Saturday night crammed in a purple pleather booth with Joffrey Lannister, Mailroom Brienne and Sansa Stark, he would have laughed. And now who was laughing? Joffrey, the little punk, who obviously found the whole situation quite amusing. 

There was wine, at least. Thank God for that.

Across the table, Sansa’s eyes sparkled. She was _happy_ about this. She _wanted_ to be on this God=forsaken double date. He tipped back his glass and took a long gulp.

“So Brienne,” she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “How long have you and Sandor been seeing each other?”

Brienne’s cheeks flushed. She’d dressed up for the occasion, her sleeveless, knee-length dress emphasizing her muscles. She was strong. Maybe as strong as him. Not exactly what he looked for in a woman, but he supposed Sansa wouldn’t know that.

_She probably thinks we belong together. Two giants in love._

“Three years,” Sandor said, grinning harshly. He was already getting deep in his cups. Brienne shot him a look. “We’ve just started getting serious, though.”

“Is that so?” Joffrey leered at him from across the spread of appetizers he’d ordered. They were only one course into this goddamn dinner, and so far the kid had done nothing but laugh under his breath, shoot Sandor malicious looks and make thinly veiled threats. “So strange. I had no idea you two were a couple. Trying to keep it quiet around the office, were you?”

“Yes,” Brienne piped up. “Always best to keep your work and personal life separate. That’s what I always say.”

Sandor took another sip.

Sansa smiled and cocked her head in his direction. “Serious, eh? That sounds very exciting.”

“Oh, very,” Sandor said, slamming his glass down on the table harder than he’d intended and shooting her a tight grin. “What about you two? Just met recently?”

Sansa laughed. “Oh no, we go way back. Our fathers are old friends, actually. We grew up seeing each other at social events, but we --" 

“Long story short, we’ve been together a year.” Joffrey took a sip of his cocktail. “Seriously, babe. It’s a boring story.”

Sansa’s face fell. “Two years,” she said quietly, but Joffrey either didn’t hear her or didn’t care.

After a long, agonizing pause, Brienne said, “Clegane and I met at a baseball game.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you called him by his last name.” Sansa took a bite of calamari and covered her mouth as she chewed. “Is that what you prefer to be called, Sandor?”

“No,” he said. “I mean...”

“It’s a pet name. Like honey.” Brienne forced a smile and reached over for the most awkward hand holding experience of Sandor’s life.

“A baseball game? Not at the office? How coincidental,” Joffrey said. 

“Well, some things are just meant to be.” Sandor finished the last of the wine and then immediately refilled his glass. “That’s what I always say.”

Another silence fell over the table. It was so unpleasant that Sandor actually felt relieved when two punk kids walked up to speak to Joffrey.

“Meryn! Boros!” Joffrey jumped out of his seat and they did some sort of ridiculous handshake. All three had the exact same hairstyle, spiked with shiny, sticky-looking gel. Both Boros and Meryn were having trouble keeping their extremely baggy pants up.

The three of them spoke for a while, Joffrey’s back turned to the table, but Sandor quickly tuned them out. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Sansa’s face.

She was smiling, turned slightly towards Joffrey. Waiting to be introduced? Sandor wasn’t sure. He saw her lip tremble slightly, just for a moment, but her courteous mask returned almost immediately.

“Babe, we’re gonna go hit the bar. Order whatever you want.” He threw his credit card down on the table, then turned to Sandor and Brienne and gave a mock salute before walking away.

Sandor looked down at the credit card, then up at Sansa. He half expected her to burst into tears, but her expression stayed cool. She picked up Joffrey’s card.

“You want to order something?” Sandor asked.

She paused for a moment, then raised her deep blue eyes to meet his. “Let’s get some shots.”

***

“How does it go again? ‘The bear, the bear, all covered with hair...’” Sansa’s singing was possibly the worst Sandor had ever heard. Somehow, though, he found it endearing.

 _The vomiting... not so much._ Still, he was tipsy enough it didn’t really bother him that his dress shoes would probably be forever stained by the contents of Sansa’s stomach. 

“Quiet back there, please!” Brienne held the steering wheel with an iron grip, her knuckles glowing white in the moonlight. “I need to pay attention to the road.”

Sandor laughed, which made Sansa laugh, which made Sandor laugh even harder.

They were stuffed in the back of Brienne’s tiny two-door Toyota, so close their thighs were touching. They’d stayed at the restaurant until they were finally kicked out at 2 a.m. After Joffrey had left, they’d put round after round of drinks on his credit card, ranging from vodka to tequila to -- port? Something weird. His memory of the evening was already getting hazy.

It was pitch black and snowing like hell outside, which was probably why Brienne of the Mailroom was so fucking uptight. That and the fact that she’d been stuck playing designated driver while Sandor and Sansa drank the night away.

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa said, covering her mouth. “I’ll try to be quiet.” _Christ. She’s even courteous blind drunk._ “Sandor,” she whispered. “Did you like my song?”

“You sing just like a little bird,” he heard himself say. “One that’s been mauled by a cat.”

She punched him in the arm. “Ow! Geez, your arm’s harder than my fist. You must really like working out.”

Sandor thought of all the lonely hours he’d spent lifting weights. Five days a week, he’d hit the gym before going back to his apartment, heating up a frozen dinner and sitting in front of the TV before passing out.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a flask. “Want some?”

“Ugh,” she said. “No, thank you. I’m never drinking again.”

Sandor laughed and took a swig. “I’ve told that lie myself, little bird.”

The snow outside was mesmerizing. They were driving at a snail’s pace, but Sandor still found himself being lulled to sleep by the blizzard and the movement of the car.

“We’re here,” Brienne said, jerking him awake. They were parked in front of Sansa’s building. “Are you okay to get yourself upstairs, Sansa?”

She suddenly turned to Sandor with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Will you help me get up to my apartment? Do you mind?”

He hesitated for a moment, though he was far too drunk to realize why. Something to do with the impropriety of going back to his boss’s girlfriend’s apartment at two in the morning. Or something. _Whatever._

“Okay,” he said, like a fucking idiot.

“It’s starting to really come down,” Brienne said. “Will you be very long?”

“You’re free,” he said. “Go home. I’ll take a cab back to my place.”

Brienne nodded. She opened up the passenger door and moved the seat forward so they could climb out, then said goodnight before driving off.

“Safe travels!” Sandor shouted. He cleared his throat, took the little bird by the arm and walked her to the door. The snow around them made everything feel muffled – he couldn’t hear anything but the crunch of shoes on snow.

They entered the stairwell and started slowly walking up, Sandor trying extremely hard not to fall flat on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” Sansa was walking faster than him, though her arm was still looped with his.

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t your girlfriend mind dropping you off at another woman’s apartment at two in the morning?”

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “She’s not the jealous type. That’s what I like about her.”

“Oh yeah?” Sansa smiled. “What else do you like about her?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “The muscles, for sure,” he said. “I like a strong woman.”

“Is that so?”

“You laugh now, but when the zombie apocalypse comes, Brienne and I are going to be... you know... survivors. Or whatever. You and Joffrey, well...”

“What?” Sansa stopped in her tracks. “What makes you think I couldn’t survive?”

He put up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t know, little bird. The textiles and all...”

“There’s no reason I can’t do needlework and also kill zombies. Or at least hide from them.”

“Okay. I’ll buy it. But Joffrey? No way.”

“You’re wrong! He could totally...” Sansa trailed off. “Well, maybe _he_ couldn’t kill zombies, but I’m sure he could supervise the... you know, the resistance.”

Sandor shot her a look and then burst out laughing. “I’ll tell you what. When the zombies do come knocking, I’ll swing by and pick you up. You can live on my compound. I’ll keep you safe.”

She gave him a tiny hint of a smile and took his arm once again.

After four flights of stairs, they finally made it up to Sansa’s apartment. She took forever finding her key to unlock the door -- so long that Sandor was starting to wonder what the fuck he was doing there.

She finally managed to open the door, stumbling inside in her ridiculous high heels. “Home sweet home,” she sighed, grabbing one shoe and then another, tossing them beside the door.

“My turn to ask you something, little bird.”

“Anything,” she said.

“Why did you want me to come up here with you?”

Sansa sighed and looked down. “It’s silly.”

“Tell me,” he said.

Sansa reached over and started sorting some scattered magazines on the coffee table into a pile. After a while, she said, “Joffrey has a bit of a temper. Nothing major, just...”

 Sandor felt the blood rush to his face as he squeezed his knuckles tight.

“Oh, please don’t worry, Sandor,” she said. “I was just a little nervous that... you know. If he knew I’d been out so late...” She suddenly leaned over. “Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick again...”

“Come here,” he said, pulling her towards him. He gave her a little shove towards the bathroom, not ungently.

While she puked, Sandor found himself looking around her apartment. Pictures of friends, a collection of seashells, quilts – no, _textiles --_ hanging on the walls. It felt like her. No wonder she loved living there.

_And one day she’d leave it all behind, the little goddamn heiress._

Somehow, he found himself wandering into her bedroom and sitting down on her bed. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, not really, but there must have been a hundred pillows on the thing, the softest he’d ever felt, and he was so goddamn drunk, drunker than he’d thought.

When he opened his eyes, early morning light was streaming in the window and Sansa’s palm was pressed up against his scarred cheek. Her hair was a mess and she looked exhausted, but he still didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. “I think you should go,” she said.

So he did.


	5. Mutually-Assured Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the little bird and her goddamn courtesies had gotten to him. Forced him to make decisions on the fly, decisions he never would have considered otherwise. And where had it landed him? In the backseat of a cab on a snowy Sunday morning, hung over as a dog, with vomit-stained shoes and a bunch of rapidly fading memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and lovely comments <3 Short little poor-Sandor chapter for your reading enjoyment (pity? Sansa-rage?)

Sandor’s cab ride home was possibly the most nauseating experience of his life, even more so than the polite conversation with Joffrey he’d had to endure the previous night. His head was throbbing, his stomach was churning, and he still had the taste of port on his tongue. But as the cab bumped and swerved its way back to his apartment, Sandor found himself feeling grateful for his hangover. The agony was a distraction, at the very least, from the fact that he’d made a gigantic fool of himself the night before.

He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his life. More than he cared to recall. But he couldn’t shake the sense that ever since Sansa Stark had first called him up at LanniCom, his life had taken a rather disturbing turn.

It wasn’t that he’d been happy _,_ before. _Fuck no._ But he’d been safe. He’d woken up every morning and known exactly what to expect. He’d followed the script, at work and in life, and he was damned if he was going to change that now over... whatever Sansa was to him.

_Nothing, really._

Somehow, the little bird and her goddamn courtesies had gotten to him. Forced him to make decisions on the fly, decisions he never would have considered otherwise. And where had it landed him? In the backseat of a cab on a snowy Sunday morning, hung over as a dog, with vomit-stained shoes and a bunch of rapidly fading memories.

_Her terrible singing. Her laugh in the stairwell. Her hand on my face..._

The cab hit a speed bump hard at the entrance to his apartment complex, making Sandor’s stomach lurch. The brakes screeched as they came to a stop.

“That’ll be $17.45, sir.” The cabbie held out his hand without looking back at Sandor. He threw him a crumpled $20 and half-crawled out of the car and into the elevator, silently thanking every God he could think of that he didn’t live in a walk-up.

 Sandor’s apartment was sparse. _What do they call it these days – minimalist?_ That’s how he liked it. Nothing sentimental. All business – couch, TV, refrigerator. Still, as he dragged himself to the bedroom, he couldn’t help but notice how empty it felt. The bare walls didn’t seem freeing anymore. Just... depressing.

 He quickly shed his clothes, crawled into bed – well, futon – and closed his eyes. His head had barely hit his single, flattened pillow by the time he fell asleep.

 ***

Several hours and one awful nightmare later, Sandor awoke to a slightly less horrible headache and the strange sensation that the events of the previous night hadn’t been real. Had he actually spent the night in Sansa Stark’s bed?

_Not exactly the way I’d imagined it, of course..._

The part where she kicked him out, though. That felt as real as a slap on the cheek. Sandor sighed and pulled himself out of bed, fishing around in the pocket of his crumpled pants for his long-dead cell phone.

He plugged it into the charger and waited for it to come back to life. Soon enough, the little battery icon turned into his lock screen. _5 new messages... Really?_ He couldn’t recall ever having had more than one alert at a time.

Surprised and slightly alarmed, he checked his voicemail first.

“Clegane, this is Brienne. I hope after last night you’ll consider the debt paid... and then some. My car still smells like vomit. The honourable thing to do here would really be for you to pay to have it cleaned, especially after spending the night with --”

Sandor groaned and pulled the phone from his ear before she could finish her sentence, then hit delete. He’d pay for the goddamn cleaning, if only to guarantee Brienne’s mouth would stay shut about his humiliating night with Sansa. He was fairly certain she’d keep her word – she seemed like the type – and besides, he still had that email to hold over her head. _Mutually-assured destruction, or whatever the fuck that was called._

He still had four more alerts, all text messages. His heart leapt up into his throat – _how fucking embarrassing –_ when he saw the name SANSA STARK listed as the sender of all four.

 **9:53 a.m.** SANSA: Sandor, I’m so sorry about this morning. I hope I wasn’t too abrupt with you... I really appreciate you getting me home safely last night. I was just worried about Joffrey showing up. I didn’t want you to get in trouble at work if he found you here.

Sandor rolled his eyes. _As if she’s actually concerned about my job security..._

 **10:02 a.m.** SANSA: Oh, and I had a really good time last night. I hope you did too.

 **10:05 a.m.** SANSA: OH and I’m really really really sorry I just remembered possibly throwing up on your shoes?!?!

 **10:15 a.m.** SANSA: By the way, Brienne is really great... I hope I didn’t cause any tension with you guys by inviting you up last night. I must really not have been thinking. I really admire your relationship and I hope Joffrey and I can have what you have one day...

So she was staying with him, after he blew her off last night. _Of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be?_ His phone buzzed. A new text from Sansa.

 **12:17 p.m.** SANSA: Also I’m sorry for texting you so much. If you’re not answering because you’re mad I totally get it and I’m really really sorry. But I’ll stop now (God why am I texting you again to apologize for texting too much okay I’m done)

Sandor sighed and started typing, stopping every few words to correct typos. His fingers were too big for the goddamn keyboard.

 **12:22 p.m.** SANDOR: I’m not mad, little bird. Had fun too. Sorry I passed out on your bed. Don’t worry about shoes or Brienne.

He sighed and put his phone down, then laid back down in bed to close his eyes again. _No use being conscious for the rest of this shit day..._

Another buzz. He reached over to the side table to look at his phone.

 **12:24 p.m.** SANSA: I’m so glad. And just so you know, I’m not telling Joffrey about our... sleepover last night.

Sandor swallowed hard. In other words, he wasn’t to make a peep either. Not that he would have, of course. Somehow, though, it made him feel even worse than he had when she kicked him out that morning.

 **12:26 p.m.** SANDOR: Noted.

He got up, pulled on his pants and grabbed his keys. There were 20 hours left before he could go to work, follow the goddamn script like he should have from the beginning and forget this weekend had ever happened. _Thank Christ the liquor store is still open._


	6. A Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, Sandor’s mind flashed with a new kind of rage – something he’d never experienced before. Not the kind that made him want to drink too much, or hang up on someone, or pound on a punching bag at the gym. No, this rage was cooler. Quieter. It was a smooth pebble in the palm of his hand, a fact, hard and cold. It was the sort of rage that asked nothing of him, simply existed, simply was. He no longer had a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWZERS that took me a while to update. Sorry for the delay!

On a typical Monday morning, Sandor would drag himself into the office elevator half-asleep, lukewarm coffee in one hand and sad paper lunch bag in the other.

Today was not a typical Monday morning. Sandor marched into the elevator and hit the button for his floor with the brute force of a man on a mission.

Was he hung over? Hell yes, he was. The only thing louder than the throbbing in his head was the sound of his gut gurgling, still trying to process the inhuman amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before. Was he exhausted? Of course. Nothing tires a man out like a wholehearted attempt to obliterate his own memory with red wine.

But this was a new day. A fresh start. A chance to get back to real life – the life he’d had before Sansa showed up and confused him. _Confused everything_.

He was wearing the nicest clothes he owned – slacks and a brand new white dress shirt he’d never bothered with before, assuming it’d get immediately stained. It clung a little tighter to his chest than he would have liked, but at least the buttons did up.

He was ready to answer the phone, read from his goddamn script and shut the fuck up otherwise. He was ready to reclaim his old self – the man who did his job and kept his mouth shut, who didn’t blurt out any of the awkward sentences that had been getting him in so much trouble lately.

_Bing._ The elevator door opened. Sandor sucked in his breath. No more foolishness. No more Sansa. And no more getting carried away with ridiculous fantasies that did nothing but hurt him in the end.

***

Sandor settled in quickly that morning, grateful for the deluge of calls that kept him out of his own head. He hadn’t seen Joffrey yet, thank God – there was nothing he wanted less than to see or hear from anybody who had been witness to the previous night.

_Briiiiiing._ The single ring of an intra-office call. Sandor sighed and looked down, praying for any name other than...

TARTH, BRIENNE

_Goddamnit._ He picked up the phone. “Hi, Brienne,” he said, covering his eyes with one enormous palm.

“Clegane, I just wanted to drop you a line and make sure you received my voicemail.”

“Yes,” he said, sighing. “I’ll write you a cheque for the car.”

“Thanks,” she said, then paused. “You know, you really should have told me what I was getting into from the start.”

“I had no idea he was going to ditch –”

“Not that,” she interrupted. “You told me you needed Joffrey to think you had a girlfriend, but you didn’t tell me why.”  
  
“Of course I told you. Because I had stupidly told him –”

Brienne groaned. “I don’t care about what you told Joffrey. You know the only reason you needed me there was because you’re in love with Sansa.”  
  
The blood drained from Sandor’s faces as he tightened his knuckles. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Brienne.”

“Oh, please.”

“I don’t. Besides, what the fuck do you care? Even if I did, what difference would it make to you? You were doing me a favour.”

“Well for one, I don’t like being involved in some sort of adulterous scheme.”

“I have a picture of you in my trash folder that would suggest otherwise.”

“And two, I would have told you the whole thing was a really bad idea. Did you really think going on a double date with her and your boss was the best way to win her? Not to mention the shitstorm you’re going to be in when he finds out.”

Sandor lowered his voice. “Listen to me. Nothing happened. Nothing is ever going to happen. I don’t ‘love’ her, whatever the hell that means. You were there so I wouldn’t get caught in a stupid lie that meant nothing. I appreciate your help, but I sure as fuck don’t need your advice.”

“Fine,” she said. “Empty your trash, please.”

“With pleasure.” He slammed the phone down and then slumped even deeper into his chair, taking a deep breath to try to clear his head.

Just as he was beginning to relax, he heard the screech. “Clegane!” Joffrey yelled at the top of his lungs from his corner office, not even bothering to open the door first. “Get in here!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rose to his full height, and started to walk.

Joffrey’s office was lined with built-in shelves that were filled with Lannister family memorabilia – trophies, photographs of various relatives shaking hands with presidents, the family crest blown up and mounted in an ornate golden frame. Even the ceremonial family sword was there, laying casually on a side table. The room was shameless, like an altar to nepotism.

Joffrey swung his buttery leather executive chair around, gesturing towards the tiny metal stool on the other side of his desk. Sandor tried his best to sit on it, ending up in a sort of impossibly awkward half-perch. “You wanted to see me?”

“Sure did, buddy! What a fun time the other night. You and Brienne – what a sight, man!” His eyes glimmered with silent laughter.

“Yeah,” Sandor mumbled, looking down at his hands. “Fun times.”

“Too bad I had to take off early. Would have loved to hear more about how you two met. Whatever, though – I’m sure we’ll have plenty of more double dates to enjoy in the future!”

Sandor nodded and forced a slight smile. “Sure thing.”

“I wanted to get your opinion, Clegane – you know how much I value your opinion, right? You’re such a valuable asset to the company.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“I picked up this ring for Sansa – well, actually, I picked up four. Why not, right? I thought you could give me your opinion, since you and her seem to be such good buds.”

“I don’t know –”

Joffrey pulled out four ring boxes from his drawer and opened each one to reveal diamond after glittering diamond. “What do you think, Clegane? Which one should I give her?”

Sandor felt the dead weight of his heart sinking. He glanced at each ring – they all looked the same, really, different shapes but each one impossibly huge, impossibly bright. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Joff’s phone rang. “That’s okay.” He grinned. “You just sit there and think on it.” He picked up the receiver. “What’s up, Boros?”

Sandor’s heart, now living somewhere in the bottom reaches of his stomach, started to pound. Was he really sitting here helping Joffrey get fucking _engaged to Sansa?_ He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Not over the twinkling light of diamonds and the stench of leather and cologne.

“Fuck yeah, that was a fun night,” Joffrey said, spinning around in his chair and putting his feet up on the windowsill. “You fucking bet I took that bitch home. Kicked her out when I was done with her, too. No, not that one, the blonde one. An eight or nine. Seriously. Whatever, man, she was hotter than that bitch you went home with...”

_He cheated on Sansa._

_And he’s bragging about it._

_In front of me._

Suddenly, Sandor’s mind flashed with a new kind of rage – something he’d never experienced before. Not the kind that made him want to drink too much, or hang up on someone, or pound on a punching bag at the gym. No, this rage was cooler. Quieter. It was a smooth pebble in the palm of his hand, a fact, hard and cold. It was the sort of rage that asked nothing of him, simply existed, simply _was._ He no longer had a choice.

In one moment, he was a mild-mannered customer service worker with a drinking problem and a shitty car. In the next, he was a man nearing seven feet tall and muscled like a bull, turning Joffrey’s chair around, looking into the boy’s terrified eyes, ripping the phone receiver out of his hand, pressing the tip of the Lannister family’s ceremonial sword into his throat until a hint of red had escaped the skin.

Joffrey tried to speak, but no words came out. His eyes welled up with tears.

Sandor lowered his voice and spoke into the boy’s ear. “You are going to call Sansa. You are going to tell her you cheated on her. You are going to break up with her. Then you are never, ever going to contact her again.”

Joffrey nodded, trying to stifle a sob. Sandor handed him the phone, set it to speaker mode, and told him to dial.

“I have to look up her number!”

Sandor rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to ask this woman to marry you, and you don’t even know her _phone number?”_

Joffrey shrugged pathetically.

Shaking his head, Sandor dialed without looking. It rang four times, five times, six. Finally, her voicemail. “You’ve reached Sansa. Please leave a message at the beep!”

Her voice was sunshine.

“Uh, hey there, Sansa.” Joffrey’s voice wavered. “I, uh, just wanted to say. I wanna break up. Okay? I uh, cheated on you last night.” He paused.

Sandor dug the sword in just a little deeper. Joffrey squealed.

“And, um, some other nights. There were other nights when I, uh, cheated. I won’t call you again. Later.”

Sandor slammed the phone down and pulled the sword away from Joffrey’s throat.

“What the fuck, Clegane!” Joffrey whimpered, then started shaking with rage. “How do you know I won’t just call her back and say I was lying?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you won’t,” Sandor said, still clutching the blade’s handle. “I’m keeping this.” He grabbed one of the ring boxes. “And this.”

“You’ll regret this.”

Sandor opened the door to leave. “By the way, I quit.”


End file.
